Establishing a Pattern
by Kelcat
Summary: As a young man, Nathaniel never cared much for the company of others his age. The exception was Fergus Cousland. Companion piece to "Unseen Forces."
1. Chapter 1

I've made several references in my story "Unseen Forces" about the fact that Nathaniel and Fergus had a relationship before Nathaniel was sent to the Free Marches, and I've decided to finally write out that story.

Even though it's a companion piece to "Unseen Forces," it's set several years in the past, so you don't need to have read that one in order to understand what's going on.

Many thanks to my beta, Olndina!

* * *

"I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern." Anaïs Nin

oOoOo

Nathaniel had never been a very social person, even as a child. He dreaded the various social gatherings that his mother and father used to hold. The adults mingled, playing their various political games, while the children were left to entertain each other. Nathaniel invariably made one excuse or another to help him escape from these gatherings as quickly as possible, but the attempts were rarely successful. As he grew older, he was expected to spend time with the girls, because, as he often heard, one day one of them would become his wife and the mother to his children. Nathaniel kept quiet during his mother's lectures, trying his best to hide the distaste he felt at the idea of having to wed someone who he didn't love.

He'd tried to spend time with the various girls his mother insisted he meet, but the results were always disastrous. None of the girls had any interest in hunting with him, and one had actually burst into tears when she'd seen him pull a rabbit from a snare he'd set. Wandering through the forests proved to be too dirty, as they messed up the girls' fancy dresses (and apparently none of them owned a decent set of armor). Sword-fighting was right out, as well. He was certain there were plenty of women in the world who enjoyed these activities – he'd heard that in Antiva, especially, the women were trained to fight in battles – but the ones who Nathaniel met had their sights on only one thing: becoming the next Arlessa of Amaranthine.

He didn't fare much better in socializing with the boys. He didn't really have much in common with the boys he was allowed to socialize with, either. Most of them were the eldest sons of nobles, boys far more interested in learning how to be future rulers by sucking up to those who were more powerful. They enjoyed the luxuries of court life: spending their time talking about how important their fathers were, eating delicacies, berating servants, and generally focusing much more on how they looked rather than on anything of real importance. Nathaniel had no interest in court life, nor did he have the patience for it.

Nathaniel made as much effort with them as he did with the girls, inviting the boys out for afternoon excursions, but he was usually met with disdain. Fencing, archery, hunting – and anything else that seemed to involve any actual exertion – were too much for the foppish boys who were more concerned with the current clothing fashions and how dashing they looked on horseback.

After one glorious afternoon spent practicing survival skills with the children of servants, Nathaniel had gone to bed exhausted, but happy. The happy feeling had lasted all through breakfast and on into the afternoon when it abruptly ended with a lecture from his father. Socializing with the children of servants was completely out of the question. The future Arl of Amaranthine _did not_ consort with lowly stable boys or manservants. It did not matter that the noble boys and girls were boring; it simply was not allowed.

Rendon, unlike most of the other nobles, allowed his two sons to learn and practice the basics of combat, and so hired an armsmaster. Thomas, unfortunately, had very little interest in it, while Nathaniel found all manner of weaponry and survival skills fascinating and practical. Hunting, fishing, and training were Nathaniel's passions and if he had to indulge in them without the benefit of companionship, then Nathaniel was content in his role as loner... most of the time.

The Couslands and the Howes had been friends for years, dating back to the time when both patriarchs fought together in the rebellion, helping King Maric drive out the Orlesians and take his rightful place on the Fereldan throne. The two families spent every summer together, alternating each year between Highever (where Bryce Cousland was Teyrn) and Amaranthine (Arl Rendon Howe's domain). The summer of Nathaniel's seventeenth year was the Couslands' turn to visit Amaranthine.

Like their fathers, Nathaniel and Fergus were extremely close. Best friends since they'd been in nappies, they were nigh on inseparable during these summer gatherings. They spent every hour they could outdoors. It was in Fergus that Nathaniel found a kindred spirit.

When one of the pages announced the Couslands' arrival that morning, Nathaniel made his way slowly to the main hall to greet them with the rest of his family. In his younger days, he would have torn through the Keep, running to meet his best friend. Now, however, he was old enough to see such unbridled exuberance as being childish and unfit for a man of his maturity. It didn't stop him from grinning widely when he saw Fergus, though. They shook hands, both trying to appear formal all the while neither was able to stop grinning. Finally with a laugh, Fergus pulled Nathaniel into a rough hug and mussed his hair.

While Thomas was too busy getting into trouble with his friends (Rendon could care less if his younger son fraternized with the sons of commoners living in Amaranthine), Gideon, Fergus' insufferable snot of a younger brother, had an annoying habit of tagging along with the older boys. In visits past, Nathaniel and Fergus would put up with him, but now… well, now they were simply too old to play with children anymore. One dead leg later, they managed to leave Gideon howling in pain in the corridor leading to the servants' quarters.

They spent most of the morning walking through the fields surrounding Vigil's Keep, catching each other up on everything that had happened in the seasons since they'd last seen each other. As usual, Fergus talked while Nathaniel was content to listen. After hours of walking, they stopped outside the horse paddock in front of the stables, watching the groom exercising some of the carthorses.

"Did you bed her?" Nathaniel asked curiously.

Fergus laughed. "Of course I did! Do you really think I'd pass up an opportunity like that? The girl was practically draped over my lap." They were talking about the party Fergus' mother had held a few months prior, the one that Nathaniel's mother had refused to attend due to a spat with one of the other arlessas who had also been invited. Apparently there had been several eligible daughters of noblemen there, and one of them had been quite forward in her desire to be the next Teyrna of Highever. Fergus sighed, a dreamy look in his eyes as he stared past Nathaniel. "She was beautiful: pouty little lips, and her breasts…" he licked his lips, "magnificent."

"Are you going to marry her, then?"

Belying his casual shrug, there was a sharp look in Fergus' eyes as he focused on Nathaniel again. "I doubt it... She wasn't very bright." He placed his foot on the bottom rung of the fence surrounding the paddock and hoisted himself up to sit on the top. "I mean, I don't expect my wife to be brilliant or anything, but I'd like it if we at least had something to talk about with each other."

Nathaniel stood leaning against the fence rail, pondering Fergus' statement. "I suppose so." It felt so strange for them to be talking about taking a wife, given how young they both were. But Fergus was no longer a boy, and as the heir to the Teyrnir, it was his responsibility to take a wife and father an heir. Thinking about this reminded Nathaniel that it would soon be his time to perform these same duties, though he didn't look forward to it.

Unlike Fergus, Nathaniel had never really had any interest in girls. He'd shared kisses with a few – the daughters of influential banns whom his mother was determined to marry him off to – but to him it felt every bit as stimulating as kissing his own hand. At first, he thought his lack of response was because of his age. After all, at thirteen he wasn't really expected to have a strong interest in girls was he? But now, he was almost a man; shouldn't he be chasing and catching girls like the rest of the boys his age? As he sat and listened to the other lads boasting about their conquests – detailing how she used her tongue just so, or how she moaned when he did that – he found himself not listening to the words, but instead watching a tongue dart out and lick full chapped lips fringed in the beginnings of a beard.

One evening, a few weeks after his seventeenth birthday, Nathaniel had been on his way to the library after supper when he found himself all but abducted by some of the younger soldiers of the Keep and practically dragged to Amaranthine. It wasn't until the lot of them stood outside a door with a red lantern lighting its entrance that Tarbin, the newest recruit, had confided that Rendon Howe had ordered them to ensure Nathaniel returned to the Keep a man. One by one, each of the men chose a whore from the line-up, until only Nathaniel was left. With sweaty palms and a racing heart, Nathaniel looked at each of the four remaining women. They were pretty – in a tired and overly-made-up way – but Nathaniel found none of them actually _attractive_. Finally, he pointed at a girl with curly blonde hair, likely not much older than he himself was, and she took him to a vacant room where she proceeded to disrobe.

The woman's form – her bare breasts and the mound of curly brown hair that surrounded her sex – was pretty enough, Nathaniel had conceded, but it was not arousal that had his heart racing and his palms sweating. It was terror. When she had started to approach him, he'd blushed and stammered as he backed away. When she had called him a "skittish young colt," Nathaniel had played up the scared young virgin and told her he just wasn't ready to go through with it. She re-dressed herself, patted him on the shoulder, and amiably offered to let him stay in the room. They played Wicked Grace with a tattered old deck of cards. At the end of the hour when Tarbin knocked on the door to retrieve Nathaniel, the whore had loosened her robes, pinched her neck a few times, then laid a kiss on Nathaniel that did absolutely nothing to boil his blood but did leave a convincing smear of lipstick across his lips, opened the door, and with one more lascivious look, sent Nathaniel on his merry. The other boys had clapped him on the back and congratulated him for succeeding at his "rite of passage."

Rendon had been well-pleased by the news that his eldest son had finally become a man, and had gone so far as to boast long and loudly to all who would listen about how proud Rendon was of his eldest son. Nathaniel had borne the "praise" as well as he could, blushing furiously, and inwardly wishing he was anywhere else.

The whinny of a horse brought Nathaniel back to the present, though his mind was still dwelling on that embarrassing night in the brothel. He wondered if Fergus had ever endured such a thing; his friend was far older, and likely quite experienced.

He looked up at Fergus, thinking. "Have you had many women, Fergus?"

"Dozens," Fergus said with a cheeky wink. Nathaniel's mouth dropped open in surprise and Fergus laughed. "Alright, maybe not dozens. But I've had my fair share of women." He looked away from Nathaniel again before adding, "and then some."

"And then some?" Nathaniel paused, thinking for a moment. Then, "Have you," Maker, he couldn't believe he was even asking such a thing, "have you ever lain... with a man?" He was pretty sure his cheeks weren't flushed with embarrassment, or, at least, he was telling himself that they weren't bright red.

Fergus looked down at him, and held his gaze steadily. "One," he finally said.

Nathaniel couldn't really explain why, but the low number was actually comforting. "Was it different from being with a woman?"

"Definitely," Fergus said. "For one thing, you use a different hole."

Nathaniel _knew_ he was blushing now. "I-I know that!" he stammered. "I just wondered if you... well, if you felt more..."

Fergus seemed to understand what Nathaniel was saying. "You mean did I find being with a man hotter than being with a woman?"

Nathaniel nodded wordlessly, grateful that his friend knew him so well.

"I suppose it was," Fergus said musingly. "Though I can't really say if I prefer one sex over the other. They're so different from each other; there's things I like about each." He studied Nathaniel thoughtfully. "Why do you want to know something like that?"

Nathaniel briefly thought about keeping his secrets to himself, but this was _Fergus_, his best friend, and they shared everything. "I found a book."

Fergus raised an eyebrow. "What kind of book?" Slowly, he started to grin. "Must have been pretty racy to make you so embarrassed."

Nathaniel scowled. "I'm not embarrassed," he protested feebly. He ignored the deadpan look that Fergus gave him. "Anyway, I was... wandering around the Keep a few weeks ago..." They both knew that this meant Nathaniel was _sneaking _around the Keep. He fancied himself a rogue one day, and he liked to practice moving about the place without being seen. This usually meant walking softly, and keeping to the shadows as much as possible.

"I was in the barracks, and I saw Tarbin – he's one of the newest guards, not much older than you, actually. He was looking through this small leather book, and acting a bit strange. He kept darting his head up, looking at the door, almost as if he was afraid of being caught. And when he wasn't glancing at the door, he was reading the book so intently that it looked as if his life depended on it. After a few minutes there was some noise coming from the hallway. Tarbin jumped up and, right before a couple soldiers walked in, he stuffed the book under a loose floorboard near the wall."

Fergus grinned. "So you waited until everyone left and then fetched the book out of its hiding place."

"Of course I did." Nathaniel actually smiled, proud at his growing skills. "I didn't want to get caught with it, since I didn't actually know what was in it, so I snuck it up to my room. I didn't look at it until after I went to bed that night. And... well..." he paused, brows furrowed. "It was racy, like you said. But... well, it wasn't about men and women doing, uh, you know." He swallowed, his gaze focused on one of the horses running loose in the paddock. "It was about men_.__.. just_ about men. And there were details, and illustrations..." He trailed off, too embarrassed to go on.

"Do you still have it?" Fergus asked. Nathaniel nodded. "You'll let me look at it, right?"

Nathaniel looked up at him in surprise. Even with the knowledge that Fergus had been with a man, he never expected the older boy to actually be _interested _in the book. "If you want," he said uncertainly.

Fergus nodded. "I'll come to your room tonight, after everyone's asleep."

"No," Nathaniel said hurriedly. For some reason the thought of their looking at the book in his bedroom made him feel a little strange. "I'll... I'll meet you here, up in the hayloft inside the stable." It was a place they often went to get away from their bothersome kid brothers.

Fergus looked as if he was going to protest, but shrugged instead. "Alright."

The appearance of Thomas sauntering towards them, calling that it was almost time for supper, cut off any further discussion between the two friends. They walked amiably back towards the Keep, Thomas walking beside Fergus and talking a mile a minute about nothing in particular, and headed to their rooms to wash up and dress for dinner.

oOoOo

The three-quarter moon was shining brightly as Nathaniel crept from the Keep and out to the stable, the book hidden under his cloak. He stepped into the warm fug of the stables and shut the door firmly behind him. It was pitch dark inside, making it almost impossible for Nathaniel to see anything. A whisper from above nearly made him jump out of his skin. "Up here!" Nathaniel looked up to see Fergus' head poking out from the loft. As he looked for the ladder leading up, a match flared and the soft glow of an oil lamp helped guide Nathaniel up the rungs.

"Why didn't you light it before, you arse?" Nathaniel huffed.

Fergus grinned at him. "It was more fun listening to you stumble around in the dark."

Nathaniel shoved him. "Thanks a lot." He sat down on the floor of the loft and pulled out the book, handing it to Fergus, who joined him on the floor. He immediately opened it and started flipping through the pages. As tattered as the book was, it was very finely made. Beautiful illustrations accompanied the short stories, some of them even in color. Fergus studied a picture that illustrated several men twined together, contorted into positions that Nathaniel would have never thought possible.

"Andraste's cunt," Fergus murmured. He looked up at Nathaniel. "You read all of this?" Nathaniel nodded, squirming a little. Fergus eyed him curiously. "What did you think?"

"About what?" Nathaniel asked warily.

Fergus rolled his eyes. "The stories, the pictures. Did you like them?"

Nathaniel wasn't quite sure what Fergus was getting at. "I suppose so. They were... sort of interesting."

"'Interesting...'" Fergus chuckled. "Yeah, you could say that." He noticed that one of the pages was dog-eared and he turned to it. As he read through it silently, Nathaniel sat next to him, horribly embarrassed. He'd been the one to fold the corner of the page; it was his favorite story out of all of them, and he'd read it through several times. It was about a stable boy and a young nobleman, and made very interesting use of riding crops and rope.

Fergus finished reading through the story and looked up at Nathaniel, his eyes sparkling. "You liked this one best, didn't you?"

Nathaniel looked down at his hands, tears of embarrassment pricking his eyes. He should have never shown Fergus the book; he should have _burned _the thing as soon as he'd realized what was in it, as soon as he'd realized how it made him feel to read these kinds of stories and study the pictures. At least Fergus would never know how many nights Nathaniel had spent pleasuring himself while reading it.

He flinched when he felt fingers gently stroking his hair. He looked up to see Fergus watching him, a small smile curving his lips. "There's nothing wrong with liking this," he said softly.

Nathaniel looked at him skeptically. "That's not what my father says."

Fergus actually scowled. "Your father's a right bastard."

Nathaniel frowned at that, but didn't object. "The Chantry says it's wrong too."

"The Chantry's full of old prudes who have likely never had sex in their lives."

Nathaniel couldn't help himself as he started laughing. "That's a terrible thing to say."

Fergus shrugged, grinning impishly. "It's true, though."

Nathaniel realized that Fergus' fingers were still combing gently through his hair, and he couldn't help leaning into the touch.

"You asked me if it feels any different to be with a man," Fergus murmured. "I could show you."

Nathaniel's heart began racing, and he found himself licking his lips unconsciously. "How do you mean?"

Fergus answered by leaning forward slowly, brushing his lips lightly against Nathaniel's.

Nathaniel jerked back, his eyes wide with surprise. "Fergus, what – "

Fergus ducked his head down, smiling sheepishly. For a moment he looked every bit the boy that he still was. "Sorry," he said, though he didn't look very sorry. "Couldn't help myself."

Nathaniel reached up and touched his own lips thoughtfully, pondering what had just happened. It took him a few moments to get his jumbled thoughts organized. His voice was little more than a whisper when he asked, "Could we… maybe... try it again?" Relief flooded him when Fergus smiled at him and leaned in to kiss him again, this time more firmly. Nathaniel felt himself kissing back, a warm tingle running through him. A tiny gasp of surprise escaped him as he felt Fergus' tongue flicking against his lips – a perfect opportunity for the other man to slide his tongue into Nathaniel's mouth.

The feeling was strange at first, but Nathaniel slowly responded, his tongue darting out to meet Fergus' over and over. Soon he found himself making small noises of pleasure as the kiss became more passionate. Both young men dueled for control, but Fergus won out, as he usually did in any challenge between them. Nathaniel contented himself with giving himself over to the heady pleasure, not even resisting when Fergus gently pushed him backward onto the floor, still kissing him deeply as he hovered over Nathaniel's body, hands roaming idly along his sides. Nathaniel didn't remember giving his hands permission to do so, but suddenly they were tangling in Fergus's unkempt hair. Fergus moaned and slid a hot, questing hand beneath Nathaniel's shirt to ghost along his bare skin. Nathaniel stilled.

"I won't do anything you don't want me to," Fergus said reassuringly. It was an unnecessary comment, though, as Nathaniel trusted him completely; it was his lack of experience and fear of his own arousal that was holding him back.

He forced himself to relax again, moaning quietly as Fergus nipped at his lower lip. He clenched the front of Fergus' shirt, holding him close as the other man ran his warm hand over his chest. A slight tweak to a nipple had him gasping, and he groaned outright when Fergus pinched it harder.

Fergus' hand eventually wandered slowly down Nathaniel's chest and over his belly. Nathaniel felt himself hardening as Fergus' fingers trailed lightly over the front of Nathaniel's breeches. Fergus ran the palm of his hand firmly over Nathaniel's growing bulge, causing him to moan wantonly and buck his hips up.

The pressure slowly let up and Nathaniel looked down to see Fergus picking at the laces on the front of his breeches. Finally he got them loose and slipped his hand inside Nathaniel's smallclothes, cupping his length.

Nathaniel's head thumped back against the floor as pleasure surged through him. No one had ever touched him like this before, and Maker, it felt amazing. As Fergus wrapped his fingers around Nathaniel's cock, Nathaniel bucked his hips up again, thrusting into Fergus' hand. He welcomed Fergus' lips against his, and this time he was the one with the controlling tongue as he pushed it into Fergus' mouth.

His kisses were sloppy and desperate as Fergus began pumping him, the rough pads of his fingers causing a delicious friction against the soft skin of Nathaniel's cock. He came almost embarrassingly quickly, moaning Fergus' name as his seed spurted hotly over the other man's fingers.

As Nathaniel lay there, completely spent and trying to get his breath back, Fergus grabbed up some loose hay and used it to wipe his hand clean. He tossed the hay aside and stretched out next to Nathaniel, his head propped in one hand.

Nathaniel looked up at him, a mixture of uncertainty and pleasure in his expression. "That was…."

Fergus raised a brow. "If you say it was anything less than spectacular, I'll thump you."

Nathaniel couldn't suppress a snort of laughter. "It was alright," he said teasingly.

Fergus scowled, but his eyes were glittering with mirth. "Arse."

"Have you wanted to do that for very long?" Nathaniel asked curiously.

There was a shrug from Fergus. "Since last summer, I guess."

Nathaniel lay there for several moments, mulling that over. "I liked it," he finally said, noting the look of relief on Fergus' face. "I didn't know it… could feel like that."

Fergus smirked. "Didn't I tell you it was different from being with a woman?" Realization suddenly seemed to dawn as Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably. "You've never been with a woman, have you?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "It never felt right," he admitted. "Not like this." He looked away, embarrassed once more. Fergus' hand cupping his cheek forced him to look back at his best friend.

"It's not a big deal if you don't like women," Fergus said reassuringly.

Nathaniel looked at him doubtfully. "Except for the fact that I'm supposed to _marry _a woman, and have children with her."

Fergus shrugged. "Not for a long time yet." He leaned down and kissed Nathaniel softly. "Until then, you shouldn't worry about it."

At Fergus' words, Nathaniel felt liberated. This man – his best friend, his _lover_ – was right. They had _years_ together. So long as his father never found out, there would be no repercussions.

In summers past, the two young men had spent nearly every waking hour together. The difference between then and now, however, was that their hours of hunting and sword practice were interspersed with stolen moments in meadows or abandoned barns.

At first it had felt strange, being so intimate with his best friend, but the awkwardness slowly began to fade and the rightness of what they were doing crept into its place. He had felt nothing when he kissed a girl, there had been no stirring when he'd seen a woman naked, and the idea of actually lying with one made him nauseous and uncomfortable. But as the month of Justinian turned to Solace, Nathaniel slowly began to accept that he preferred the intimate company of men rather than women and for the first time, he felt a sense of _rightness_ in his skin.

Despite this rightness, being with Fergus was not without risks. If Nathaniel's father ever found out the true nature of their relationship, the punishment would be severe. There had already been a couple of close calls, close enough that his father had actually become suspicious. There had been one morning where Rendon had caught the two young men embracing each other. It had been a harmless enough gesture between two friends; it hadn't even lasted for more than a couple of seconds. But when Nathaniel was caught in a lie later that day – saying that he and Fergus had been in the training yard all day when Rendon knew for a fact that they hadn't – his suspicion had risen. Nathaniel was lucky to receive only a few lashes from his father's belt for that one. After that, they were much more cautious – they still spent all of their time together, but they were only intimate at night after everyone else had gone to sleep.

A week before the Couslands were set to make the journey back to Highever, Fergus stole into Nathaniel's room in the dead of night. It was the first time the two boys had seen each other all day, as Nathaniel's father had required his eldest son's attendance during the monthly holding of court. It had been a long, boring session that had required Nathaniel to stand at attention behind the arl's throne for hours without fidgeting.

As soon as Fergus turned the lock on the door, they were in each other's arms, kissing each other hungrily. They drew back from the long kiss only briefly in order to pull each other's tunics off, and then they were locked together again, bare chests pressing against each other and hands roaming freely.

"We're leaving next week," Fergus murmured when they finally parted for breath.

Nathaniel frowned. "I know." He looked up at Fergus, grey eyes meeting brown. "I'll miss you."

Fergus' arm wrapped around Nathaniel's waist, holding him close. "I'll miss you, too." He smiled as he ran his fingers through Nathaniel's loose hair. "We'll see each other in a few months, though, at the next Landsmeet."

"That won't be the same," Nathaniel protested. "There probably won't be any chance for us to be alone together."

"Then we should make these last few days memorable," Fergus said confidently.

Nathaniel looked at him questioningly. "More memorable than these last few months?"

In answer, Fergus tilted his head down and kissed Nathaniel again, this time more tenderly. Nathaniel's eyes slid shut as he slowly kissed Fergus back. Fergus' hand slid from Nathaniel's hip to work on the drawstring at the waist of Nathaniel's sleep pants.

"I want to take you," Fergus whispered as his hand closed around Nathaniel's freed length. Nathaniel's breathing hitched, aroused by Fergus' words as much as his touch. Though they'd done many things together over the last two months, they hadn't actually had sex yet. Nathaniel had wanted it, but he hadn't been entirely sure how to ask. Truth be told, he was also nervous as hell about it, every bit the blushing young virgin he had pretended to be with the whore.

He swallowed before finally nodding his head. "I want that, too."

Fergus drew back just a little to look at Nathaniel, though he was still stroking his length. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." He cupped the back of Fergus' head and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, trying to convey his emotions through actions rather than words. Fergus responded hungrily, kissing Nathaniel until they were both breathless. They both quickly shed their clothes (Fergus palming a vial of oil that had been stored in his pocket) before Fergus grasped Nathaniel's hand and pulled him towards the bed. Trying to block out his nervousness, Nathaniel crawled onto the bed and lay back, welcoming Fergus into his arms.

Nathaniel had become very good at hiding his true emotions, but Fergus knew him well. "You don't have to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Nathaniel protested automatically. Though Fergus looked a bit skeptical about that remark, he didn't comment further. Nathaniel was grateful for that; if there was one thing he truly hated, it was showing any signs of weakness.

This part of the ritual Nathaniel was familiar with – lying on the bed naked, kissing passionately, bodies grinding together – it was what came next that he was unsure of. In almost all of the stories, there were the parts before, and much description of during, but nothing about the bridge between the two. How something so large could fit into an opening so small remained a mystery, and Nathaniel had been afraid to ask lest he sounded like a complete idiot.

He watched with a mixture of nerves and curiosity as Fergus opened the vial of oil he'd brought and drizzled some of the slippery substance over his fingers. When Fergus leaned in to kiss him again, Nathaniel tangled his fingers in the other noble's hair, kissing him back with enthusiasm. He gasped quietly when he felt one of Fergus' slicked fingers rub teasingly over his entrance.

The oil felt cold against his flushed skin, but not unpleasantly so. He sucked in a sharp breath of air when he felt the finger press slowly into his entrance. The feeling wasn't unpleasant, just strange; Nathaniel had never touched himself there before, though he'd certainly entertained the idea more than once. His eyes drifted shut as he focused on that one finger, his body quickly adjusting to the intrusion.

His muscles had just begun to relax when the finger was withdrawn. The emptiness was only there for a few moments, though, as Fergus wove two fingers together and pushed them slowly into Nathaniel's entrance. This time there was pain, in the form of a slight burning sensation, not unbearable, but definitely noticeable. Once Fergus' fingers were buried past the second knuckle, he began to twist them first one way and then the other, slowly moving them in and out all the while. Nathaniel began to relax again, and he found that though the sensation was uncomfortable, it also felt rather good.

Fergus crooked his fingers and Nathaniel's eyes flew open, a small, undignified squawk escaping him. The pads of Fergus' fingers had pressed against a hitherto unknown spot inside Nathaniel, and a burst of pleasure had seared through his entire body – from his toes to the tip of his head. He looked at Fergus, eyes wide, only to see the other man grinning. "I take it you like that?"

Nathaniel could only nod, unable to form a coherent response. Those fingers crooked again and this time Nathaniel's back actually arched off of the bed as he moaned with pleasure. "Fergus… please... more..."

Fergus grabbed the bottle of oil again and poured more into the palm of his hand; he rubbed it onto his length, slicking it thoroughly to ease its passage. As Fergus positioned himself between Nathaniel's legs he looked down at the younger man, smiling softly. "Just relax," he murmured, "and remember to breathe."

Nathaniel nodded his understanding. Raising his legs to wrap around Fergus' waist, he gripped Fergus' biceps loosely and tried hard to keep his nervousness from showing. Still smiling a little, Fergus lined himself up with Nathaniel's entrance and began to push in slowly. What started as a small amount of discomfort quickly turned to a burning pain that increased with each inch that pressed into his body. His grip on Fergus' arms tightened, and his muscles instinctively tensed.

Finally, Fergus was completely seated inside of him, and Nathaniel was biting down on his lip, trying not to whimper at the pain. Fergus was patient with him, holding himself completely still as Nathaniel slowly adjusted to the thickness stretching his entrance almost beyond endurance. Heeding Fergus' advice, Nathaniel took several slow breaths and found that they actually helped. His body gradually untensed and after a minute he nodded his head, signaling that he was ready. He even managed a small smile for his friend and lover, though it felt a bit strained.

Fergus slowly drew back before pushing in again. Nathaniel gritted his teeth against the pain until eventually each new thrust brought less pain and more pleasure. As Fergus found a steady rhythm, Nathaniel actually moaned softly. "Fergus... oh, Maker..."

"You alright?" Fergus asked, his head tilting up to look at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel actually managed a strangled little laugh. "Yeah, I'm great."

Fergus returned the laugh before rocking his hips sharply, causing Nathaniel to cry out with pleasure as that sensitive spot within him was hit once again.

Fergus reached between them and wrapped his hand around Nathaniel's length, stroking him in time with his increasingly harder thrusts. Nathaniel groaned and rocked his hips against Fergus' hand, trying to give back as good as he was getting.

Gasps of Fergus' name interrupted his moans – or maybe his moans interrupted gasps of Fergus' name – as Nathaniel came closer and closer to the edge. With one more hard thrust by his lover, Nathaniel cried out and came hard, spilling over Fergus' hand.

Fergus followed soon after, groaning loudly as he released deep inside the younger man. Nathaniel relaxed into the bed, his arms curling around Fergus and pulling him close. They lay like that for several moments before Fergus finally drew away, flopping onto the bed next to Nathaniel. He held out his arms, and Nathaniel obligingly curled up against him, smiling when he felt the strong arms tighten around him.

The silence that settled between them was comfortable, the two lovers sharing a sort of silent communication that conveyed their emotions far better than any words ever could. Nathaniel rested his head on Fergus' shoulder, his hand on Fergus' chest. The heart beat beneath his touch soothed him.

"I wish we could stay like this," he whispered.

Fergus kissed the top of his head. "I can't stay the night. Your father would have a stroke if he found me here in the morning."

Nathaniel dutifully laughed, even though that wasn't _quite _what he had meant. They were both heirs to their father's thrones, and they had duties to fulfill. Although of marrying age, with luck, they had two and maybe three more summers to spend together before duty took precedence. Those precious few summers had seemed like forever on the other side of the Couslands' visits, but now were painfully too short of a time. Nathaniel no longer wanted a few summers of stolen moments. He wanted years and years. But now was not the time for such weighty matters. He tilted his head up and looked at Fergus. "You'll stay for a little while, though, won't you?" He sounded a bit needy, and he hated himself a little for it, but he couldn't stand the idea of Fergus just shagging him and leaving, like Nathaniel was just another conquest. It was an irrational fear that Nathaniel could not stop from taking root.

Fergus smiled softly. "Yeah, of course." He hugged Nathaniel tighter. "So long as I'm gone before daybreak, we're fine."

Nathaniel knew that Fergus was doing his best to keep their relationship quiet mainly for Nathaniel's sake, but the younger man couldn't help wondering how things would be if his father weren't so contentious. Did Fergus' parents know about his attraction to men? Did they care? What would they think if they knew that Fergus and Nathaniel were lovers? He suspected Bryce and Eleanor wouldn't really object to Fergus' preferences, though they would of course still expect Fergus to produce a legitimate heir.

He needed to stop dwelling on things that couldn't be changed and focus instead on what he had: the arms of his lover wrapped around him. At their young age, two or three years could seem like an eternity. The two men would have more summers together, and maybe other times to see each other as well, like the upcoming Landsmeet, where, with a bit of luck and ingenuity, they might actually manage to steal some time alone together.

Comforted by these thoughts, Nathaniel settled into a sleepy, half-hypnotic state. The heartbeat beneath his hand remained soothing and the feeling of Fergus' hand rubbing up and down his back was gentle. It was a pleasant rhythm that lulled him to sleep.

When he woke in the morning, his bed was empty. He knew it would be, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He dressed slowly, wincing occasionally at the pain that had settled in while he slept. Fergus had warned him that the first time would be painful, and that his body would take a day or so to heal; he suspected he would be having great difficulty sitting down for a while.

As was the case the day before, the two men had little time to spend together during the day. But Fergus visited him again that night, and every night after for the rest of his family's stay. They certainly hadn't accomplished _every _position described in Nathaniel's book, but they did quite a bit of experimenting in the short time they had left together. The night before the Couslands left, Fergus had talked Nathaniel into taking him. It had been the most intense, the most amazing, the most pleasurable thing he'd ever experienced. Being buried inside his lover, feeling the tight heat around his cock, it was pure ecstasy. Neither slept that night as Nathaniel, his lust nearly insatiable, took Fergus again and again.

After lunch on that last day, Fergus and Nathaniel said their goodbyes privately, with many kisses and promises to write as often as possible. After their very last hug, Fergus pulled something from his pocket and pressed it into Nathaniel's hand. "Something to remember me by." He winked, a playful smile on his face. Nathaniel looked down at the object in his hand: a small lapel pin engraved with the Cousland family crest. "I know you can't wear it, but..."

Nathaniel smiled at him. "I can keep it in my pocket. Thank you." Fergus returned the smile, clearly pleased that his gift was so well received. Before Nathaniel could think of anything to give in return, a servant came looking for Fergus, telling him that his father was ready to depart.

Fergus grinned at his friend and lover. "See you soon."

Nathaniel nodded. "Soon."

As soon as Fergus left, Nathaniel began counting down the days until he would see him again. Two months seemed like an eternity, but he and his father finally made it to Denerim to attend the annual Landsmeet. He immediately sought out Fergus, shaking the hand of his friend and exchanging light pleasantries as there were too many people about for them to do anything more. Both young men were required to attend the meet, though Nathaniel found it difficult to concentrate on what was going on. He tried his best, knowing that his father would drill him on the proceedings later, and offer a scathing word for any errors made.

There was a grand feast after, and Fergus and Nathaniel managed to sneak away a bit early in order to spend a bit of time together. They had to rush, as someone could come looking for them at any minute, but that made it all the more thrilling. The sex was amazing as always, the intimacy between them so strong that Nathaniel felt almost overwhelmed by it. As he lay curled against Fergus afterwards, he reflected that he had never before been as happy and content as he was right now.

They parted reluctantly, knowing that their absence would surely be noticed if they didn't return to the dinner soon. Both the Couslands and the Howes left the next morning to return to their homes, and as the fathers got everything ready for departure, Nathaniel and Fergus snuck off to exchange their own private goodbyes once more. They shared a long, passionate kiss, both men mercifully unaware that it would be the last kiss they ever share.


	2. Chapter 2

_One year later…_

Nathaniel had been bitterly disappointed when he'd found out that Fergus would not be in Highever during their annual summer visit. In Fergus' last letter (one of several dozen sent over the months since they'd last seen each other), he'd written that he'd finally given in to his father's suggestion of taking a tour of Thedas. Every ruler hosted foreigners from time to time, and Bryce had wanted his son to be as learned about other countries as possible. So Fergus would be spending the next few months traveling to such places as Orlais, Antiva, and Rivain, as well as a few smaller countries.

Nathaniel knew that going on such a trip was not just because Fergus was heir to the Teyrnir; he would, within a few years, become leader of Bryce's army. Political savvy was a must. Nathaniel's mother had also hinted that Eleanor was tiring of her son not being able to settle on a wife, and thought that perhaps Fergus ought to look further afield. The idea made Nathaniel sick to his stomach, but he consoled himself with the idea that Fergus was very picky; if no woman in Ferelden had caught Fergus' eye, it was likely that no one abroad would either. Fergus was not ready to settle down yet, or so Nathaniel told himself.

Nathaniel stuck to his usual way of keeping to himself as much as possible. Gideon came along with him occasionally, for horseback riding or fishing in the nearby lake, but most days, after grabbing a bun from the kitchen, Nathaniel managed to escape the castle before dawn. It wasn't that he disliked Gideon's company; it was just that as far as friendship went, Gideon was no replacement for Fergus.

Even Nathaniel's siblings were no better. Thomas was… well, still Thomas. Only instead of being perpetually lazy, he now had the annoying habit of wanting to follow Nathaniel, especially if Gideon were in tow. And, although a small part of him looked forward to his evenings in Castle Highever's library, reading alongside his sister Delilah.

But arguing with Thomas and Gideon and discussing books with his sweet Delilah were not enough to keep the castle from feeling well and truly empty without Fergus around. For the first time since he could recall, Nathaniel looked forward to the end of the summer season.

Although Fergus' letters came less and less frequently the more he traveled, they were filled with all of the amazing things he'd seen and experienced in the countries he'd traveled to. Rather than comforting, Fergus' words filled Nathaniel with a sense of longing. He would have loved to see the Grand Cathedral in Orlais, or sit on the golden beaches of Antiva. And he would have loved to stay in one of the expensively decorated inns in Rivain lying in bed with Fergus next to him.

Antiva was to be Fergus' last stop before returning to Ferelden, and for some reason, the letters he wrote from there seemed to be a bit vague. While he wrote of the sites he'd visited, where he had once described the lavish dinners he ate, the outrageous fashions the women and men wore, and the intricacies of some of the more _interesting_ local customs, he was now oddly silent. Then, the letters all but stopped.

Finally, about three months after the Howes had returned home from Highever, Nathaniel received the letter he had been waiting for. Fergus was returning home, and to Nathaniel's delight, he would be stopping off in Amaranthine for a day or two. He had some sort of "grand news" and wanted to tell Nathaniel about it in person.

On the morning of Fergus' arrival, Nathaniel barely ate any breakfast, too excited at the prospect of seeing his friend and lover once more. He had made himself a promise months ago that the next time the two men saw each other, Nathaniel was going to confess his feelings of love. Just thinking about it scared him a little. He could count on one hand the times that people had told Nathaniel they loved him – and all of those times were with Adria, his surrogate mother. The Howes just did not express their feelings openly.

Fergus and his small group of guards arrived right after lunch. Nathaniel wasted no time in dashing from the library where he'd been reading out to the throne room, where the party would be formally greeted. As soon as he saw Fergus, Nathaniel's face lit up and he strode forward to take the other man's hand in his. "Fergus," he breathed, a smile stretching his face.

Fergus took the hand and shook it, squeezing it tightly. "Nathaniel. It's good to see you." And although the man was smiling, there seemed to be a hint of sadness in his eyes. A woman stepped forward just then, one who was not wearing the typical guard's armor of Highever, but instead wearing a richly colored dress, her auburn hair in a loose braid draped across her shoulder and over her bosom. "Fergus? Are you going to introduce me, or must I stand here like a dolt all day?" Her voice was lilting and clearly amused, with a very light Antivan accent.

Fergus turned to her and smiled – a warm, affectionate smile that made Nathaniel's stomach clench. He felt as if the air had been sucked out of him when Fergus wrapped an arm loosely about the woman's waist and drew her forward. "Nathaniel, this is Oriana, my fiancée."

The room seemed to spin as he looked at the woman, his mouth hanging open. He looked from her to Fergus and back again, completely at a loss for words. For the briefest of moments he thought that maybe this was some sort of joke that his old friend was playing on him, but he need only see how fondly they were looking at each other to know it was no joke.

Several moments passed as Nathaniel just stood there, staring at this strange woman _who shouldn't be here._

Finally, he recovered enough to offer her a formal bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials." He knew the words were a little overly formal for the situation, and his smile was more than a little forced, but at least he was making an effort.

Nathaniel was, for once in his life, grateful to see his father approaching, his mother following silently in his wake. After the formal greetings and the bustle of settling all of the guests and their belongings in their rooms, Nathaniel was left to his own devices. Feeling completely lost, he retreated to his own bedchamber, where he paced the floor.

He'd known this day would come, of course, but knowing something that would happen some nebulous day in the future and seeing it face to face in the present were two entirely different things. There hadn't even been any warning!

A soft knock on the door interrupted his tormented thoughts. For a moment, Nathaniel considered not answering in hopes of the other person going away. "Nathaniel, it's me," Fergus' soft voice carried through the thick wood. Nathaniel sighed and walked over to the door and opened it, coming face to face with his friend and former lover. The "former" part made him wince internally, but he did his best to keep his composure as he opened the door wider to allow Fergus inside.

As soon as the door was closed, Fergus began speaking. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I've been wanting to tell you about Oriana, but it didn't seem right to do so in a letter. I thought if I told you in person, it'd be... easier," he finished lamely.

Nathaniel was still facing the door, reluctant to turn around and look into those handsome green eyes. "There's nothing to apologize for," he said quietly. "You don't need my permission to marry."

"Perhaps not," Fergus agreed. "But I _would _like your blessing."

Nathaniel choked down a bitter laugh. "When did you meet her?" he finally asked.

"A few months ago, as soon as I got to Antiva, actually. Her father was the nobleman who my father had arranged to host me during my stay."

"I suppose it was just love at first sight?" Maker, he hated the way he sounded, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

Fergus sighed. "Nathaniel..." There was a light touch on his shoulder. "It's not as if I'd planned this. I was just doing all this traveling to get my parents off my back; I never expected I'd actually _meet _someone."

Nathaniel moved away and sat down on the edge of his bed, still not able to look Fergus in the eye. "It's just sudden, is all," he said quietly.

Fergus sat down next to him. "I know, and I'm sorry for that. I didn't mean to spring it on you like this, but it all just happened so fast. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, no." He managed a quiet chuckle. "I think it actually took about three days for me to realize that she was special."

Nathaniel felt his chest constrict. "But you do love her."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the older man nod. "I do. She's like no other woman I've met before." There was that hand on his shoulder again. "I know you'll like her, once you get to know her." The pleading tone in the words caused Nathaniel to look up, and he saw the look of anxiousness. Nathaniel sighed. No matter what else, Fergus was his best friend, and he had to support him in this.

"I'm sure I will," he said, smiling faintly. He reached up and placed his hand on top of Fergus', squeezing it gently. "So long as she makes you happy, then I'm happy." The look of relief on Fergus' face made Nathaniel's empty words worth saying.

"I'll always care for you," Fergus said.

Nathaniel nodded. "Likewise. I'm glad for what we had, but we both have to grow up sooner or later, right?" The words tasted like ashes in his mouth, and his mind was screaming at him. He didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to keep this façade up.

The clearest sign that something had changed between the two men was the fact that Fergus didn't seem to notice Nathaniel's insincerity. Maybe it was the fog of love that had settled over Fergus, or the fact that they'd been separated from each other for so many months. Whatever it was, there was a gulf between them now that Nathaniel knew could not be breached. They would still be best friends, of course – that would never change – and one day they might even be able to confide in each other like they once did. But that deep bond that had formed between them the previous summer was missing now, never to be recovered.

Fergus squeezed Nathaniel's shoulder lightly before moving his hand away. "So, do I have your blessing, then?"

Nathaniel smiled at his old friend. "Of course you do." He wanted so badly to lean forward, to kiss Fergus one last time – but he knew he couldn't. It was better to leave things just as they were.

He wondered if Fergus had managed to sense his thoughts, for he seemed to shift a little farther away. It was a surreptitious move, one that many would not have noticed. "Thank you," Fergus said. "It means a lot to me that you're okay with this." He stood up and turned back to Nathaniel. "Come and meet Oriana properly, get to know her. You might find that you have some things in common."

Nathaniel doubted that, but he wasn't going to say so. He stood up and smiled at Fergus. "Lead the way."

oOoOo

The remainder of the day felt much like the usual gathering of nobles at Amaranthine; Nathaniel was polite, but distant, never really speaking unless spoken to. He desperately wanted to escape, to retreat to the training yard and shoot arrow after arrow from his bow until he was so exhausted he couldn't think anymore. Instead, he was forced to socialize with a woman who would soon be marrying the friend whom he'd nearly confessed his love for. And thank the Maker he'd never gotten the chance to. Admitting his true feelings would only hurt Fergus at this point. Nathaniel couldn't ruin Fergus' happiness.

It took less than an hour of chatting with Oriana to realize that he had absolutely nothing in common with her although she was actually quite pleasant. And, even when she wasn't standing next to him, it was obvious how she felt for her husband-to-be every time she looked his way and a soft smile danced across her features. Fergus, for his part, took every chance he could to be near her; sitting next to her, holding her hand, or even just gently touching her shoulder as he walked past. As much as he might like to, Nathaniel couldn't hate her for stealing Fergus away; it wasn't her fault. He didn't actually know if she even _knew _about his relationship with Fergus. Even if she had, it didn't matter. Nathaniel knew well enough that you couldn't choose who you fell in love with.

oOoOo

The two travelers were too worn out for any after-dinner socializing and Nathaniel was finally able to escape to his bedchambers to pace the floor once again. The pain and the anger were so overwhelming that Nathaniel felt as if he might go mad. He should have realized from the beginning that their relationship was a mistake, but he never fathomed that he would fall so deeply in love with his best friend. He had been a fool to let his emotions take control of him like that.

As dusk turned to night, he managed to convince himself that he would never have had such thoughts about another man had it not been for the contents of that damnable book. The rational part of his mind told him that he'd been attracted to men long before that, but Nathaniel was beyond the point of rationality. The book had poisoned his mind, and it needed to be destroyed.

He stalked over to the wardrobe and flung it open, prying up the loose board at the bottom to reveal the secret hiding place. He snatched up the book and raced out of the room, down the stairs to the kitchen. It was late enough at night that everyone was already abed, even most of the servants. He grabbed the flint and tinder from the mantle over the fireplace and used the wood already laid in the hearth to start a fire.

He was just about to toss the book into the flames when he heard the door creak open behind him. He whirled around, and came face to face with Tarbin. The guard inclined his head respectfully, mumbling a greeting to Lord Howe. His eyes apparently alighted on the book, and they widened almost comically. Without even allowing himself time to think, Nathaniel tossed the book on the floor and advanced on Tarbin; he pushed the man back against the wall, pinning him there as Nathaniel leaned in and kissed him roughly. His leg slipped between Tarbin's, and he used it to grind hard against the guard's length.

A moment later Nathaniel was cursing himself. He was no brute who forced himself on others. He started to pull away, but the fingers suddenly twining into his hair drew him back in. Tarbin licked his lips before smiling slyly. "Going to finish what you started,my lord?" he asked, somewhat cheekily. Nathaniel hesitated for another moment before darting in again, kissing him hard and biting at his lip.

That rational voice inside the back of Nathaniel's mind was screaming at him, telling him to stop. Never mind that Tarbin was obviously completely willing, Nathaniel knew that he'd regret this. The pain inside of him was too great, though; he needed a distraction, a release for all of the anger and hurt and frustration boiling up inside of him. So rather than pulling away and retreating to his room like he should, Nathaniel grasped Tarbin's shoulder and turned him around to face the wall. As Tarbin braced his hands, Nathaniel quickly unlaced his breeches and shoved them down past his knees, along with his smallclothes. He grasped the other man's length and stroked him roughly, sucking and biting at his neck at the same time. He reached down with his free hand and unlaced his own breeches, but didn't bother to pull them all the way down. He freed his length and rubbed it against Tarbin's ass, grinding up against him.

The only oil that Nathaniel could find was a bottle of olive oil; it wasn't quite as slippery as the oil he and Fergus had always used, but it did the job well enough. Tarbin let out a loud groan of pleasure when Nathaniel thrust into him hard, and Nathaniel had to slap a hand over the other man's mouth to silence him.

He was buried balls-deep inside the other man when the door slammed open. Nathaniel pulled out immediately and tried to lace up his breeches, but it was too late. Rendon's face was purple with rage, and he was shouting loud enough that people in Amaranthine could probably hear the obscenities pouring from him.

Tarbin tried to make a hasty escape, but Rendon grabbed him and slammed him back against the wall. Nathaniel winced when he heard the thud as the other man wall. He watched with dismay as the guard slumped to the floor, groaning and clutching the back of his head. Nathaniel was so focused on Tarbin that he didn't even see Rendon advancing on him. The crack of the belt and the stinging pain in his back caught his attention. The words that his father shouted were almost as painful as the lashes from the belt. Venomous words of disgust: he was an abomination, deviant, shameful, a disgusting and filthy creature, and, worst of all, no son of Rendon Howe.

Nathaniel could feel the blood running down his back, his shirt ripped to shreds. He was forced to his knees, tears flowing from him unchecked, but he didn't beg for his father to stop. The more Rendon shouted about how horrid Nathaniel was, the more Nathaniel believed him, believed that he deserved this punishment. He had no idea how long the whipping lasted. It felt like hours. At one point he heard a girl screaming – Delilah, most likely – but the voice sounded like it was miles away. Not long after, blackness covered him like a blanket, mercifully pulling him into unconsciousness.

When he awoke in his room, daylight was streaming in through the windows. He was lying on his stomach on the bed, and he could feel a soft weight on his bare backside. The sharp odor of earthroot told him that they were health poultices. They must not have been placed there very long ago, because the skin of his back still felt on fire. Though he knew he shouldn't, he tried to push himself up and the muscles in his back screamed out. He slumped back onto the bed.

Even that small amount of effort wore him out, and he was soon slipping into a thin sleep filled with nightmares tinged in leather and blood. It was dark again when he woke up, and the poultices were gone from his back. He rolled to his side and sat up gingerly, the pain still there but not nearly as bad as it had been. A tray on the bedside table held a small bowl of stew and a cup of water. Nathaniel downed both quickly before making his way slowly to the chamber pot in the corner of the room. After he had finished relieving himself he padded over to the door and turned the handle – locked, just as he'd expected it would be.

Days passed. Nathaniel had very little contact with anyone except for the servant who came in twice a day to bring him food and the guard who stood at the door while she did so. Nathaniel kept quiet, refusing to acknowledge either of them. He was certain that everyone in the Keep knew what had happened, and he was ashamed. Once the girl left, the guard locked the door where Nathaniel was certain he stayed. True, his job was to keep Nathaniel from escaping, but it was also to prevent anyone else from entering. While Nathaniel had no illusions that Thomas or his parents would come to him, Delilah and Adria would, and Nathaniel couldn't bear the thought of seeing either of them.

One evening, nearly two weeks after Nathaniel's beating, the seneschal came to speak with him. Nathaniel listened dully as the man told him that Rendon had decided to send Nathaniel to the Free Marches, to "make a man of him." The seneschal, a relatively kind man, sounded almost sad when he told Nathaniel that Rendon had renounced Nathaniel as his heir. Nathaniel was to stay with a nobleman in the Marches who had agreed to take him in. Rendon must have sent the request immediately after the incident in the kitchen in order for the response to have arrived so quickly, and Nathaniel wondered just how much he'd been told. Rendon's deep desire to be thought well of by others, and his great pride, would have likely kept him from telling the nobleman exactly what had happened, but it was equally likely that Rendon had told the man that Nathaniel had committed a grievous crime that necessitated his being as far from Amaranthine as possible.

Nathaniel left shortly before dawn the next morning, without a word to anyone and only a small pack holding his most precious possessions – Fergus' pin, however, had been left behind; the painful reminder of what he couldn't have had been stashed beneath a loose floorboard in his room. Three guards accompanied him to the docks in Amaranthine to ensure that Nathaniel actually boarded the ship that would take him to Kirkwall. Rendon was taking no chances; he wanted Nathaniel far from him, but he wanted to know where the boy was as well. Nathaniel felt a strong sense of loss as he stood at the railing of the ship and looked at the city he'd grown up in, and he turned his back on it with regret, certain that he would never see it again.

oOoOo

Nathaniel spent the next eight years in the Free Marches, and he used them wisely. He was trained as a rogue, and excelled at everything he was taught. Archery was still his specially, but he learned how to wield two daggers with deadly accuracy. He learned how to fight dirty; studied every nuance of stealth; and learned how to identify – and make – nearly every poison known to man. He grew from a wiry, gangly boy to a sleek and well-muscled man. He was intelligent, studious, and well-disciplined. He still struggled with controlling his emotions, especially when he was angry, but he was improving.

All thoughts of men were shoved far back into his mind and locked behind a nearly impenetrable door. Lustful daydreams and illicit thoughts were quashed immediately, and he actually managed to convince himself that he had been cured of his wicked deviancies. Eight years away from home, and he had finally become a man who his father still would have been disappointed in, but perhaps not have been utterly disgusted by.

And then the letter came, the one telling him that his father was dead. There were very few details in the letter, only that he'd been murdered. Nathaniel left immediately, paying the captain of a large cargo ship his entire savings in order to get the man to veer off of his plotted course and take him to Amaranthine instead. Seeing as how his savings consisted of fifty sovereigns, the man was only too happy to oblige.

As luck would have it, the first person he met when arriving in Amaranthine was his father's oldest friend, Bann Esmerelle. As they shared a long lunch at the Crown and Lion, Esmerelle wove a tale of deceit and treachery. She played down the attack on Highever, insisting that Bryce Cousland had openly declared his alliance with Orlais and promised an attack on the king once he arrived at Ostagar. There was no mention of the selling of elves into slavery, nor of the hiring of an assassin to murder the only two Grey Wardens who had survived Ostagar. When she told him of how Gideon Cousland had stolen into Rendon's estate, she conveniently left out the part about how Rendon had kidnapped Queen Anora. She painted a gruesome picture of Gideon ruthlessly attacking an unarmed and defenseless Rendon, slaughtering him in cold blood.

As the tale unfolded, rage burned inside of Nathaniel, nearly consuming him. He thanked Esmerelle profusely for telling him what had happened, and without pause for rest he set off to Vigil's Keep. Gideon Cousland would die a slow and painful death for what he had done. Nathaniel would make sure of that.


End file.
